The Way You Say My Name, Redux
by Beeezie
Summary: I don't really know how I ended up dating a traumatized and combative girl who had very nearly been a Gryffindor, but there it is.


When Astoria had invited me to come over to her flat, I hadn't really thought through all the possible implications of doing so. Given that she'd been in mine loads of times since we became friends and especially since we'd started kissing, it seemed like _finally_ inviting me to do the same was probably a good sign, and I'd left it at that.

Given that she lived in a flat in her brother's basement, I probably shouldn't have. I really didn't have anyone to blame but myself when her brother - who I worked with - had walked in on us kissing.

It's not like I wouldn't gone and kissed her anyway, but I probably would have had the presence of mind to double check that she'd locked the door first.

And as it turned out, Brendon Greengrass's snarky comments were the least of my issues.

I wear long sleeves because I have a dark mark that I can't get rid of and wish I didn't have. I had wondered why Astoria did the same thing, since I knew that she'd never been a You-Know-You sympathizer, but I'd never pressed the issue. Astoria could be a little skittish and temperamental, so I tried not to say things that would just get her tense and pissed off.

I'm not used to doing that. It's an interesting experience that I really could have done without.

It wasn't that I was stunned to see that she had scars on her arms. I wasn't an idiot, and I hadn't been so self-absorbed at Hogwarts that I'd somehow failed to notice that a lot of people on my side were torturing a lot of people who weren't. I'd been focused on other issues and other worries, but I had _noticed._ It was jarring to see how many and how _many_ there were, but their _existence?_

No.

I hadn't been expecting to see the considerably newer scars and half-healed cuts on the insides of her arms, though, underneath the wand she kept strapped to her forearm.

Maybe I shouldn't have been. Astoria has never been the healthiest person in the world, which I liked, in part because I'm not the healthiest person in the world, either. She drinks too much, and I know that she drinks too much, and I know that she uses me to enable her drinking too much.

I also know that she's too anxious and suspicious to get as drunk as she does around me with someone she didn't trust. That shouldn't make me feel as good as it does, since I know that part of it is that she's a little self-destructive and doesn't think that I'll stop her.

"Astoria, what _happened?"_

It was really my own fault when she tried to bolt.

I reached out to grab her wrists. "Stop it," I said softly. "I'm not - I'm just asking."

Some of the tension left her shoulders, though when she looked up at me, it felt like her eyes were piercing straight through me. "The Carrows happened," she said harshly, and I suddenly felt that familiar pit in my stomach open up. "If you kept your arms crossed in front of you, it was harder for them to slash your chest or your stomach when they cursed you, and you didn't have to sit through class with - with everything _showing._ Since you were still bleeding, they didn't much mind. That's what your side _did."_

I knew all of that. I did. I'd just never had my girlfriend lay all of it at my feet quite like that and in quite that tone before.

I let go of her. "That was a few years ago," I pointed out. "Some of those look new."

 _"Those_ are none of your _business,"_ she snapped.

It was such a quintessentially Astoria answer that I almost smiled.

Almost. There were dozens of reasons not to the stretched across both of her arms.

I'd worked with the people who hurt her so much that years later, the war was still everything, still at the forefront of her mind, still taking its pound of flesh.

I'd helped them. They'd sat at my parents' dinner table with me and laughed about hurting people. They'd laughed about the curses that still lingered on her, and even if I hadn't found it very funny then, I'd smiled, too.

I couldn't have forced a smile now if I'd wanted to.

"I'm sorry," I said after a moment. "I really, really am. I wish I could take it back." And then I let her guide the conversation away from hurting herself, back onto everything that I'd done wrong and all the ways in which I'd royally fucked up during the war.

I'm pretty sure that Astoria thought that my letting it go was a sign of maturity and respect.

It wasn't. I'm still a coward when it matters. All that's changed is what I'm afraid to lose.

Apparently, my traumatized and somewhat combative girlfriend who had very nearly been a Gryffindor had moved to the very top of that list. Objectively, there was definitely irony in that, but just now, I couldn't see the humor.

* * *

A/N: If you enjoyed this, please check out my other Drastoria fics (including a longer version of this from Astoria's PoV called "The Way You Say My Name"), which are prequels and probably eventually sequels to this - I've been doing a lot of Drastoria for NaNo. They're somewhere on this page, or you can find them in an organized series at the HPFanficTalk archive under the series **(Sidenote: Greengrass stories)** under the the same author name. :)

Reviews and favorites are appreciated!

\- Branwen


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